


Lonely Tales

by Luthienberen



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018 [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (Rathbone films)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pre-Slash, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 23:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Holmes recounts his adventure, but his audience is not as he wishes.





	Lonely Tales

**Author's Note:**

> Written for July writing prompts. Prompt No. 1: One Thousand and One Nights: Have one character tell a story to another.

The logs crackled as the flames licked at them, engulfing the wood in a steadily growing blaze that would warm their room and take the chill off, for even though it was late spring, nearly summer, both Holmes and Watson were in need of comfort.

Watson was particularly happy about that fact as he eased into his armchair. His leg wound was acting up fiercely. The sea weather had been a nightmare: cold and wet sinking into his flesh, bones and joints.

Having Watson sit with a groan and a pick up the glass of brandy beside him to sip at was the most wonderful thing for Holmes. It was a boon beyond the welcome warmth of the orange yellow fire after weeks of avoiding Nazis and constantly wondering who was friend or foe: civilian, British soldier or even German uniform – finding a sympathiser among the German soldiers had not been impossible though extremely trying.

Lighting a pipe and puffing contently Holmes smiled at Watson.

He could guess that his dear friend was concerned by the dark circles under his eyes and a pale worn face, the signs of his latest adventure.

“Well Holmes? Am I allowed to hear about your latest travels?”

Holmes chuckled at his tone. “Oh my dear Watson, you succeed in being indignant, worried and curious all in one.”

“I have plenty of practice Holmes.”

“You do indeed Watson.”

Sinking back in his chair and keeping an eye on Watson to ensure his friend was relaxing, Holmes decided to give a brief snapshot of his life.

“As you know, my brother Mycroft was anxious for certain information to be collected. Information unfortunately that now was behind German lines and outside the scope of our beleaguered forces.”

Watson sipped his drink and nodded, rubbing his knee.

“I know you were worried and it was a dreadful thing to leave you behind, but speed was of the essence.”

“And I cannot speak French,” mumbled Watson, clearly embarrassed by his helplessness both physical and linguistic wise.

“Oh my dear fellow, don’t be like that! Why, I positively missed you and wanted your loyalty and courage with me more than once.”

His friend cheered at that and shyly gazed at him. Holmes felt warmed by more than the fire, the affection in Watson’s look was more than sufficient to chase away the long hard days spent undercover in enemy territory.

Ridiculously pleased, Holmes leant forward and spoke in an excited whisper.

“Moving on, I was dropped by aircraft some miles from --- and once I had stashed my parachute I was on my way. It was many miles over dark fields and crawling through ditches before I reached my destination. The sun was beginning to rise as I made contact with my cousin ---.”

Watson nodded to show that he was keeping up, filling the blanks with his story-teller’s imagination.

“My cousin --- was an obliging fellow and set me up with clean clothes, food for a week and any items I required. Then after a few hours rest I was off as the sun was setting.”

Taking a draw of his pipe Holmes recalled the Nazi soldier he had stumbled upon most carelessly on his third night. The solider had been sneaking a cigarette in a little copse…unfortunately the same one chosen by Holmes for a brief rest.

Weary and hungry Holmes and missed the smell of cigarette smoke until the last moment. The fight had been brutal, leaving Holmes wounded in the side and the soldier dead.

The man was no more than twenty as Holmes discovered.

“I encountered a German soldier and was able to lift his identity which aided my cause tremendously.”

_He had stolen the soldier’s papers and used them to help himself past two patrols before abandoning the documents. No one would recall the man who bore the twenty-year old’s name._

“After navigating the patrols I gained the final barrier between myself and the building containing the plans Mycroft was desperate to obtain. The house was most unremarkable. The stone walls were crumbling, the windows gaping into quiet disused rooms.

“Inside was not much better, yet it was the cellar that was vital. In the final hours before the village was over-run by the Nazis, the unremarkable farmer cautiously hid the papers his scientist son had slipped to him. Then they both vanished, absorbed into the very small circle of intelligentsia that was then – and still is – slowly forming a tiny resistance group. With fortune they will join with ay larger effort that is formed.”

“My goodness Holmes, you had a very lonely time of it.” Watson shifted painfully and leant over. His breath wafted over Holmes and he inhaled the welcome scent of alcohol, tobacco and his friend’s masculine scent.

Watson put a hand on Holmes’ knee.

“What happened?”

_My wound was ebbing my strength, but even twisted with agony I had to proceed._

“I clad myself as a rather stupid farm hand, working the ruined fields. The soldiers paid me no heed so when I curled up for shelter in the ruins of the house they barely noticed me. Three days passed until the third night which was hot and sticky. The soldiers were too hot to care of a stupid labourer, so under the cover of darkness I pried open the cellar door---”

_After hours of using tools and hands so my fingers were bruised through my gloves._

“—and entered a dusty dark cellar. It was bleak work Watson. Even though I knew where to look I had to stop constantly to listen for German soldiers. When I _did_ locate the plans I had to creep out, listening constantly for the soldiers. I did not dare linger, so I spent an hour slipping past guards who at any moment had a tendency to glance in my direction.”

“Oh my!”

“Never fear Watson, I survived and eventually made my way to my rendezvous point.”

_After incapacitating another solider and nearly killing another._

Holmes shook his head and fixed a stern gaze on Watson.

“I returned to find that _you_ my dear Watson were now gone! You had offered your services on the hastily assembled boats to recuse our men from the shores of Dunkirk.”

Watson flushed and sat back, fiddling with his glass. His eyes were guilty yet proud.

“They needed doctors and a couple of my former colleagues still had contacts in the military. When the call came they contacted me, knowing I would be interested. Holmes…I _had_ to go.”

Holmes felt tears rise in his eyes and nodded, fingers on the hard, smooth pipe.

“Yes, you did Watson.”

There was no answer.

Holmes opened his eyes and the emptiness of the chair opposite stuck a chill greater than any rainy autumn day or cold unforgiving winter ever could do.

The seat was vacant, not even Watson’s ghost occupied the fine upholstery.

His story had been an excellent one, truthful in most particulars apart from one.

Dr John Watson had never returned from tending rescued soldiers in Dunkirk.

He had been initially too ill to go after Watson and when Mycroft had reported Watson missing in action Holmes had not been rational.

Now however…well, now he was healed and his grief was still buffeted by the hope that Watson had been captured by the Nazis.

His brother had not said anything of how illogical his brother was acting. Nor did he deny Sherlock Holmes any assistance, for Mycroft knew that if he wished Holmes to help any further the war effort…well, Sherlock Holmes was a patriot and would always answer his country.

Except he would not be here, because finding and retrieving Dr John Watson was currently the most important goal in his life.

So Mycroft had arranged matters and Holmes would be leaving shortly.

“I will find you my dear Watson, no army shall stop me, no man or woman will prevent me while I draw breath.”

Rising Sherlock Holmes, the world’s greatest detective set out to find his dear companion. If he were dead, vengeance would be his.

If Watson lived then Holmes would spend every second of his remaining life devoted to bringing Watson back and restoring him to health and granting him a chance of happiness.


End file.
